


Goner

by sprezzatura



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Stiles, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Suicide Attempt, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprezzatura/pseuds/sprezzatura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though I'm weak and beaten down, I'll slip away into the sound<br/>The ghost of you is close to me, I'm inside out you're underneath.<br/>Don't let me be gone...</p><p>Or the one where Stiles and Derek are both kinda messed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goner

**Author's Note:**

> There is no actual major character death, however there is a near death experience for one of the major characters as well as the mention of the death of a related character. I just wanted to put that in there as a general warning. This will be updated as often as I can. If you are Stucky trash as well, you can read my other fic Hemingway Hero http://archiveofourown.org/works/5171654/chapters/11912792 cheers x

Goner

Sprezzatura

\- “Though I’m weak and beaten down, I’ll slip away into the sound. The ghost of you is close to me. I’m inside out you’re underneath. Don’t let me be gone…” -

I

Stiles couldn’t stop the saltwater pouring down his cheeks for the life of him. The streams had long since soaked through the sleeves of his favorite sweatshirt, a sweatshirt that was given to him by his mother who was now dead. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he would never come home from school to the smell of her cooking. She would never drop him off at school and shout an embarrassing “I love you!” out the car window just as Lydia Martin walked by.

When the initial symptoms had made their appearance eleven months ago, Stiles knew the woman wouldn’t truly be his mother for much longer. However, he couldn’t help but remember the person she used to be fondly. It had taken time, but he had finally come to terms with the fact that the woman on the hospital was just a frowning shell of Claudia Stilinski. Towards the very end, she was impulsive and abrasive, not like the loving and kind mother he once knew.

He now sat with his head in his hands, occasionally scrubbing at the tears that refused to stop. The brunet was trying desperately to focus on something other than the empty room down the hall. He lifted his head to survey his surrounding; his amber eyes were met with an immense amount of white sterility. The only things that deviated from the blank color were the navy plastic chairs that dotted the walls of the waiting room. A older looking woman sat calmly against the opposite colorless panel. Stiles attention was drawn to the only other person in the room, a raven haired boy who looked to be a few years older than he, sitting to his right. The front of his henley was stained a sickly red. He held in his hands a section of cloth that was also covered in the burgundy liquid. As his eyes scanned over the handkerchief, he noticed the faint lines that bedecked his forearms. The look on the other boy’s face was ominous, his eyes looked as though they were already dead.

Stiles was drawn from his pensive state by a hand gripping his shoulder. He looked up to see his father. “Let’s go home,” his words were detached of any emotion. The boy stood and followed his dad to the exit. As he stumbled along, he made eye contact with the stranger. A look of understanding passed between the two and Stiles pulled his own sleeves down against his wrists. The lifeless jade eyes haunted him long into the morning.

፨፨፨

“I don’t need therapy, dad,” he huffed for the umpteenth time.

“Look, I think you could get something out of it. At least listen to the discussion- you don’t even have to talk!” John bribed.

“I just don’t want to be the kid who goes to counseling every week. I’m not that messed up,” he trailed off.

“Stiles, it’s not as awful as you make it out to be. Now, you can mope for an hour but at least do it inside,” he quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood as they pulled up alongside the building.

The brown haired boy exhaled as he stepped into the autumn atmosphere. “See you in an hour.”

“Right, I might be a bit late picking you up with the night shift and all, so if you can swing a ride, that would be great,” he announced. The boy simply nodded and turned towards the door.

Stiles had seldom thought about the boy from the ER over the course of the following year. The mystery man really only entered his conscious when he allowed himself to ruminate on that night spent in the hospital. He’d certainly never expected to encounter him again. And yet, there he was, sitting across the circle at the first of many group therapy sessions he was forced to attend. He couldn’t help but groan internally. To be reminded of the night that landed him in this sterile smelling room with a fake-smiling therapist was the absolute last thing he needed. His chest began to tighten but before his thoughts could get too far away from him, the meeting began.

“Welcome, and thank you all for coming!” the lady exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. “I see you have all found your name tags so let’s dive right in.”

For the next half hour, Stiles tuned out the countless stories about losing family members, friends, and so on. He didn’t really care, the only reason he hadn’t made up some bull excuse to leave was that his dad didn’t need anymore stress in his life. The sound of his name eventually drew him out of his detached haze.

“Huh?” he lifted his head and looked around the room.

“I asked if you would like to share, Stiles,” the group leader practically sang.

“No.”

The session had been over for 10 minutes and there was still no sign of his dad. He had checked his phone at least a dozen times in the last minute, nothing. He was about to start the long trek home when a black car stopped next to where he was leaning against the building. The driver’s window descended to reveal emerald eyes.

“You, uh, waiting for someone?” he inquired in a deep tone.

Stiles hesitated before explaining that his dad said that he would be a little late.

“Where do you live?” Green Eyes wanted to know.

Why he told a perfect stranger where he lives, he couldn’t explain. In the next minute he was sitting shotgun in the camaro headed towards his house. Thoughts were swarming inside of his head and he couldn’t hold them in.

“I remember you,” he blurted out. The other boy took his eyes off the road briefly to give Stiles a look of confusion. “We were in the waiting room at the hospital one night like a year ago,” he explained. “You probably don’t remember that, you looked pretty sick,” he added before he could stop himself. Green Eyes just nodded, gripping the steering wheel slightly tighter. They sat in an awkward silence for the remainder of the drive. When they rolled up to Stiles house, the other boy remained silent. The younger of the two accepted his defeat and got out of the vehicle. Before he shut the door he heard a voice from inside.

“See you next week, Stiles,” he rumbled.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Thanks for the ride!” the car was already at the end of the driveway before he realized he didn’t know Green Eye’s real name, or how he know his.


End file.
